


Tie Me to the Bed Post!

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M, Slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss





	Tie Me to the Bed Post!

**Tie Me to the Bed Post,** by [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/)**fannishliss** , Eleven/Master, rated G, 2482 words.  
No warnings, no spoilers beyond the last episodes the Master was in.  

This story is for [](http://isilienelenihin.livejournal.com/profile)[**isilienelenihin**](http://isilienelenihin.livejournal.com/), who [prompted me about a million years ago for a story based on the song "Inside Out" by Eve 6](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/135130.html).  This did not work out to be a story about angry sex, but I hope she will like it anyway.  

===

"Tie me to the bed post!" the Master sang out.  

The Doctor resolutely ignored him.

"I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rind, but the lack thereof would leave me empty inside... rendezvous then I'm through with you," the Master sang, a little quieter.

This was nothing new.  The Master sang a lot these days.  His sojourn on Gallifrey since he'd scuttled Rassilon's return had done him no good, though somehow, he'd retained the same body, even though the Doctor had long since regenerated.

"Or am I origami, punch drunk and oh so frail — I see our time has gotten stale!" the Master sang out.  

He leaned in close.  The Doctor tried not to cringe back.  

"Tie me to the bedpost!" he shouted again.

"Ow," the Doctor muttered, rubbing at his ear.  

"Or am I origami, or am I origami, or am I origami, or am I origami," the Master sang, sinking back onto the comfy chair the Doctor had bolted down near the stairs, where he remained for a while, rocking back and forth a little.  

The Doctor told himself resolutely that the superior Time Lord brain was immune to brainworms.  He ran several diagnostics on the Tardis (her tinkling laughter chimed in his brain — she'd been running perfectly  — he reminded her better safe than sorry) and he spent the time running through the cantos of Childe Harold's pilgrimage.  

"Rendezvous then I'm through with you," the Master whispered, brokenly.  The Doctor looked over.  Several hours had passed while he was concentrating.  The Master had chewed his fingernails down to bloody beds again.  Tear stains streaked his face.  

"Tie me to the bedpost!" he shrieked when he noticed the Doctor looking at him.  

The Doctor felt almost paralyzed as he regarded the broken mind of his oldest friend and longtime archenemy.    The Master's face was twisted like a child's, his eyes full of bewilderment and helpless rage.  But even so, in the days since the Doctor had found him again, the Master hadn't once lashed out. Though sometimes loud, he was docile, and the only times he'd shown any sign of violence was when the Doctor tried to leave him alone.  He wouldn't let the Doctor leave his sight, not even for a moment.  

Closing his eyes in a room with the Master in it — shutting down his awareness for that tiny amount of sleep he absolutely couldn't get by without — was the hardest thing he'd had to do in a long long time.

How long had it been for the Master?

It was hard to say.  The Master's body showed signs of age.  His mind was alert, but barricaded as defensively by the layers of singsong and nonsense as if he was locked deep underground in a leadlined bunker, surrounded by razor wire and electrified fence — an Osterhagen protocol of minds.  If the Doctor attempted to breach those defenses, there was no telling what kind of cataclysm might erupt.  

But he was the only other Gallifreyan the Doctor had encountered in centuries.  When the Master's hand brushed his, he could feel that familiar vibration despite the heavy shielding he'd concentrated on layering around himself.   He longed to make contact with that familiar mind like he'd done so many times, so long ago.  Just one delicate touch to remind them both that they were no longer so very alone.  

The Doctor hadn't forgotten everything the Master had done.  He remembered only too well the time he'd spent playing dog in a cage, the time he'd spent wizened nearly beyond the point of death, and all the horrors his beloved friends had suffered for him — Jack tortured to death over and over, Martha walking the desolated earth. The Doctor remembered his agony as the Master died in his arms, choosing death over life together, his companions' horrified eyes turning cold as he grieved the loss of a brother.  

The Master had done things, terrible things no one could ever forgive — no one but the Doctor, who knew what it was like when Time Lords drove you beyond the edge of unforgiveable.  He'd pushed more races into oblivion than the Master had ever dreamed — for the greater good — for the preservation of the Universe.  He'd nearly lost his own sanity, nearly sunk into an endless cycle of catatonic deaths and regenerations. Without the ministrations of his Tardis and the strength of their bond, he might have been eternally lost.

It was the Tardis who'd located the Master, and brought the Doctor to him, after so many years.  The Doctor still had no idea how the Master had ever escaped Gallifrey or the Time Lords, though he was more saturated with Void stuff than anything the Doctor had ever encountered.  

The Doctor had spent days now on high alert.  If the Master could escape, other Time Lords might as well — maybe even Rassilon.  So far, there had been no sign.  The Doctor had managed to locate the weak spot where the Master had emerged from the Void, and he'd sealed it tight. He had the Tardis scanning through time and relative dimensions for any sign anyone other than the Master had or would come through.  So far she'd found nothing, but the Doctor wasn't willing to move on until every search had been exhausted.

"I see our time has gotten stale," the Master sang.  

"Give it a rest, mate," the Doctor muttered.  

"I'm not as ugly sad as you!" the Master retorted.

The Doctor looked up, alert.  Had it been a random response, or had the Master intentionally answered him?

"Tie me to the bed post!" the Master shouted.  

The Doctor slumped back.  Another long afternoon of endless diagnostics to the constant background of mangled lyrics.  He sighed, and put the Tardis through another level of scans, recalibrating her just slightly for any sign of anomalies in the dimensional wall.  Even the Tardis's chime sounded weary.  

"Come on then," he said to the Master.  "I'm gasping for a cuppa.  And perhaps a bit of custard.  You?"

The Master spread his fingers, wiggling them before his eyes.  "Wanna put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin around into a beautiful oblivion."

The chewed fingers were bloody and sad.  The Doctor sighed.

"I've got to have some black kid gloves somewhere," he said.  "Remember how you used to have such a thing for black gloves?"

"Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out, find nothing but faith in nothing..." the Master whispered, ducking his chin down.  

"Give me your hands, will you?" the Doctor said gently.  

"Tender heart in a blender!" the Master choked, but he didn't fight when the Doctor reached for his hands.  

He sonicked the fingers, watching the Time Lord flesh respond quickly to the healing vibration.  Just like his own would.  So like his own.  

"Faith in nothing," the Master said. His hands were cool against the Doctor's.  Even after so long, the touch of another Gallifreyan hand sent shivers of longing down the Doctor's spine.  

"You know what? Tea can wait.  Let's go to the wardrobe right now."

The Doctor sprang up, knowing the Master would follow.

"Tie me to the bedpost," the Master urged.

"I'm seriously considering it," the Doctor answered.

The Tardis, of course, had shuffled the wardrobe, so that when they found it, all the Gallifreyan clothes were to the front.  There were the heavy robes, the high collars, and of course, the array of gloves and gauntlets.  The Master had on the things the Doctor had pulled from the clothes cupboard in his room:  woollen trousers, a buttoned shirt and a thick sweater.  The Master had seemed so thin, the Doctor had maybe swaddled him a little.  Thick socks, and the soft cloth shoes that the hostel had provided him.  

"I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds," the Master sang, as the Doctor offered him a robe.  The Master had always loved the long black robes of the Time Lords.  The blond man seemed small inside the heavy robe, but his face seemed a bit more relaxed and peaceful, so maybe it was good.  The Doctor slipped the black gloves onto the tender fingers.

"Burn burn like a wicker cabinet, chalk white and oh so frail" the Master sighed.  

"You really like that song, don't you?"   The Doctor tried not to complain. It was a distinct improvement over the Master belting out "it's then that those louses go back to their spouses!!"  over and over and over again, until he finally lost his voice.  That had been when the Doctor thought it would be best to lock the Master into a comfortable room for a short time, and the Master had literally sung his throat out and thrown himself against the door repeatedly until the Tardis rang a warning chime.  He'd broken his collarbone, which was impressive considering the superior strength of Time Lord bones.  While the Doctor sonicked, it the Master's lips had moved: "help you at the automat, help you at the automat, help you at the automat."  

The Doctor stood and the Master stood with him.

"Right.  Tea then,"  but as he turned to go the Master's black gloved hand captured his own.  

"I alone am the one you don't know you need, take heed, feed your ego," the Master breathed, too quiet for any but Time Lord ears.

The Doctor's hearts jumped and thudded.  Surely this was communication.  Surely it was intentional.  He peered into the blond man's eyes, hoping for something, he didn't know what.  

"Tie me to the bedpost!" the Master shouted.

He sighed.  "Come along then," he said, and led the way to the galley, the Master trailing gracefully a step behind him.  

Tea was uneventful.  The Master swallowed a few spoonfuls of custard and kept his insistence that he would choke on the rinds to a moderate level.

The Doctor drank his tea and tried to feel as English as he could while sitting across from the only mortal remaining who would ever again link him to the planet of his birth.

They made their way back to the console room.  The Master lounged in his chair.  The Doctor checked the progress of the Tardis's scanning.  She had scanned backwards and forwards in time for many millennia near the coordinates of the thin spot, and had found no trace of any crossing other than the Master's. She would soon reach the limits of her range.  Scans showed that the inter-dimensional weakness had only existed for a few thousand years — before and after, it had resembled normal space.  The Tardis had scanned all the years when the weakness had existed.  The Doctor was being overly cautious.  He had to be.   

"Rendezvous then I'm through with you," the Master sang.

"I'm not," the Doctor answered.  

The Master stopped singing.  

"I'm not going to be through with you," the Doctor said gently.  He didn't look over.  

"Heart in a blender," the Master sang.  

"I'm sorry.  I can't imagine," the Doctor answered.  

The Tardis chimed.  She had finished the scans and found nothing.  

"The tick tock of the clock is painful, all sane and logical — I want to tear it off the wall!" the Master sang.  

"She's completed the scans.  We've found nothing.  I think we're safe.  As safe as we can be."

"I hear words in clips and phrases, I think sick like ginger ale, my stomach turns and I exhale," the Master sang.  

"You do look a little pale — but then, you always do," the Doctor said.  

"Or am I origami?" the Master sang, very softly.

"I don't know," the Doctor said.  "Your shields are so strong — I guess they've had to be — I've no idea how twisted up you are inside.  I'm so sorry," he said again.  

The Doctor made his way over to the chair.  He'd bolted it to the floor so that the Master would have somewhere near him to sit, instead of perching on the rails.

"Frankly, I'm incredibly grateful," the Doctor said. He leaned back against the rails near the chair and stared at the floor.  The Master didn't do well with eye contact these days.  "I didn't last long after you went back through the Time Lock.  A couple of hours at most before I regenerated.  It helped a little, after losing you again.  That way.  I couldn't bear to think about what they'd do to you.  I was so, I don't know.... humbled by your bravery, sick at your sacrifice.  And now you're back. In a way."

"Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out, find nothing but faith in nothing," the Master sang, offhandedly.

"Thank you, is what I'm trying to say.  Thank you for saving us.  Thank you for coming back."

"I'm not as ugly sad as you," the Master said.  

The Doctor laughed.  "I thought when I saw you in that hospital room, alive, on your own two feet, even if you weren't making much sense — I thought you were the best thing I've seen in a long long time."

The Doctor had spent hundreds of years now in this body, alone for most of that time.  He'd gone back to the teachings of his earliest tutor, the Old Hermit of the Mountain, and he'd struggled to find the peace of a contemplative.  He'd struggled to come to terms with his sense of responsibility for all the things that went bad in the universe, his guilt over the things he'd done, all the loved ones he'd lost or left behind.  And now, somehow, he'd been given this gift: the return of his oldest friend, the only other being in the universe who truly understood all he'd gone through, all he'd done.

"I would swallow my pride," the Master sang. Casually, he stripped off the black gloves and dropped them to the floor.

"I've missed you so much," the Doctor said.  "Not the maniacal schemes for universal domination — well, maybe a little.  Thwarting can be fun. But you, Kosch — I've missed you."

The Doctor rested his hand on the arm of the Master's chair.  The Master's own bared hand crept nearer, nearer, and settled on his own.  

"I alone am the one you don't know you need, you don't know you need me. Make me blind when your eyes close — tie me to the bedpost," he sang, very gently.  

"Oh!" the Doctor said.  

"Watch it spin around into a beautiful oblivion" the Master sang, lifting the Doctor's hand, nearer and nearer to his face.  The Doctor could hear singing, Gallifreyan thoughts on the other side of a barrier slowly being torn down.  

"Tie me to the bedpost," the Doctor sang.  And then there were harmonies, and for a long time, the Tardis hummed while all the clocks stopped ticking.  


End file.
